


Anatomy of a Fall

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:11:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Longish drabble/associative essay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anatomy of a Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, intended for entertainment purposes only. I do not mean to offend or insult anyone. No characters, real or based off real people, belong to me. I am not making money off my work.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.

What is the anatomy of a fall? Well, there’s human anatomy, that right now I, for example, can observe and study just by looking at the naked lad stretched out on a red plush rug on the cot by the window, every muscle obvious on his toned slender body… The "anatomy of a fall" seems like a fancy string of words, nothing more. But if you think about it…

The first part of every fall is a surge of adrenaline. And it doesn’t even matter if you trip on a sidewalk or jump off of a skyscraper. It’s the sudden acceleration, the rush, the gust of air in your face, and fuck, the apprehension and the excitement. Or at least, that’s how I feel when he takes off his clothes and gets onto that cot with that apathetic expression on his face. He looks like he’s bored to death whilst I am barely saving myself from internal combustion. One time, two times, three times he does it, and I still feel like a schoolgirl checking out a porn site on her very first laptop. My knees tremble. My heart races. I feel lightheaded and sick.

“Less staring, more drawing, folks!”

Mr. T is really flaunting his status. He, the old gray-haired perv, has seen models undress dozens of times. He has seen other people undess too, fuck, I bet he has undressed other people himself, at least when he was younger… As for me, I only undress myself in my bathroom, before taking a shower and going to bed. I saw my neighbor undress, once, accidentally, when she forgot to close her blinds, but that was nothing like this. Nothing like watching this guy pull off his shirt, his bony chest and flat stomach, and get onto that red plush rug on the cot and lay there, like a sculpture of a Greek god, I tell ya…

They’d say I’m crazy for thinking like this, but damn, when you got nothing but the computer and spreadsheets in front of you for ten hours a day, I think I would be crazy not to. And who cares if to him, I am just a face in the class. You know, the next part of the fall is, well, falling. Or flying. Weightlessness. I don’t notice the time pass when he is laying there like a cat on the windowsill with those warm electric lights hitting his body just so, and fuck, no, I would never be able to recreate this kind of perfection on paper. His shiny jet-black hair, swept back so carelessly and his dark brown eyes, so deep and mysterious, his lips, surrounded by that casual five o’clock shadow… I bet he uses expensive cologne that smells like vodka and sex. And I know, if I dared to talk to him, he’d be just as relaxed and cool, and I bet he’d smoke a menthol cigarette and tap off the ashes just so, carelessly and… 

“All right, folks, that’d be all for tonight. Please thank Zayn for his hard work and patience. Next time we will move onto a completely different exercise” – He winks, the old scumbag, - “I won’t spoil it for you, though. Well, until then, I will see you next Thursday. Remember, no class April, 9th.”

Time gets fucked up when you fall. When you actually, physically, fall, it might appear to decelerate. Many people feel themselves falling slowly, as if in slow motion. Falling for someone is different, but it’s still fucked up. How can a one-hour class be over in one minute? And now, a new torture, watching him get up just as casually, nodding to the teacher, barely bothering to cover himself before sneaking a phone out of the pocket of his jeans and beginning to talk. As if he is not standing there, butt-naked, in front of twenty people, who are packing their bags, putting their scarves and their jackets on, ready to hit the cold scratchy air…

Well, this is my last chance to speak. Speak now, or forever hold your peace. See, the problem with every fall is its last stage, which is the crash. The heartbreak. Betrayal. Rejection. Loss. Disillusionment. You name it. Falling is the beginning of the end. The crash inevitable. You’re flying through the clouds on golden wings, and suddenly, you’re back on the ground with your face in the mud. But when you’re falling, you cannot just turn around and undo it. The process is already in motion, and now it’s the momentum, the gravity, the laws of nature that are governing your trajectory through void. You never know, how badly the fall will end, how damaging the crash will be, but it will come. Sooner or later, but it will happen…

“He is straight.”

“What??” – Harry turns in a snap, eyes wide, face pale.

“Zayn. He is straight. He’s talking to his girlfriend right now. Well, his fiancée, I should say, he proposed to her last month.”

Harry stares. 

“Yeah” – a small blue-eyed lad continues, - “I used to crush on him too, once, big time. I took this course last semester” – He laughs, noticing Harry’s expression, - “No, not because of him! I’m a website developper but I suck at design!”

Harry blinks, gazing at him with a dumbstruck expression.

“Sorry” – the lad suddenly offers his hand, - “I should have introduced myself. I’m Louis. You may not have seen me because I’m usually at the back of the class.”

He’s got a raglan on and washed out blue jeans. His hair is mess of straight brown locks.

“I’m Harry….oh shhhhh…”

All colours mix and blend in a flash. And there it is, all of it, really, everything, all at once, in a matter of a split second - the adrenaline, the flying, the crash into something both sturdy and soft. Unfamiliar voice:

“Sorry! Sorry, man, didn’t see you standing there! Bye, Mr. T! See you next time!”

A wave of warmth immediately envelopes him:

“Fucking jerks… not looking where they’re going… It’s alright, I got you...”

Louis doesn’t smell like vodka or sex, he is not even wearing any cologne at all. His hair smells faintly of shampoo, and his raglan - of laundry detergent. 

“Folks, are you getting out? Zayn, am I giving you a ride?”

Mr. T shoots them one more bewildered glance before hurriedly following his model out of the classroom. The door shuts, then all quiet.

“Harry, you okay?”

His tone is so gentle and his embrace so secure, that with his eyes shut and Louis’ arms still around him, Harry thinks: “This is it.” 

You see, the trickiest part of a fall is the landing. The moment of reconnecting with the ground. But if Louis’ eyes are so blue and his hair so soft, maybe it doesn’t have to be a disastrous wreckage at all. Maybe it can just be a nice safety landing…


End file.
